I would really like to have them all…

I tell myself I don’t need them all.

I don’t want them all…

and I know that’s not true.

They sputter and splatter

And leave a mess..

Yet…I want them all.

Straining, dripping, filling the compost

They sit and wait for winter freeze

To bring back the smell of cider,

While those we couldn’t reach lie in rot

Wasted.

I wish someone else wanted the same as I.